


The Ballads of Lady Hawke and The Fenris Wolf

by CalliopeSpeaks88



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Romance, Character Study, Drama, F/M, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalliopeSpeaks88/pseuds/CalliopeSpeaks88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of shorts centered around Fenris and a female mage Hawke. All musically inspired. Also a precursor to my Fenris/Hawke story Lovers At A Great Divide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballads of Lady Hawke and The Fenris Wolf

I do not own Dragon Age or the characters affiliated with the series. All rights belong to Bioware. Also, the following short prose about Fenris and female Hawke were inspired by music. I decided to challenge myself by writing while listening to song. All songs used are the property of the musicians that have recorded them.

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" Love You Till the End," The Pogues

Every instance he caught her eye or heard her laughter something jolted within him. Fenris couldn't tell what it was exactly. It was a spark unlike anything he had ever experienced; it made his heart quicken and his palms slick with sweat. Had this young mage cast some sort of foul spell upon him? This quivering nervous behavior was so unlike himself. It was unnerving.

Sometimes, within the confines of his abandoned abode, Fenris would allow his mind to drift to thoughts of her. Usually these musings began as the mundane sort. Fenris' brows would knit together to mull over the days' events with his strange new "leader." She, a mage just like Danarius, but different from that magister in so many other ways. For a start, Hawke never ordered him about. Ever. Instead, voice delicately tender, the lady addressed Fenris as an equal. . .and her lips would twitch into this whimsical smirk that left the man speechless. . . . All typical thought would be gone once her lips entered his mind.

When the evening becomes thick with darkness, hours are then wiled away by the fire. Images of Agnes Marian Hawke bombard the brooding swordsman's brain, eliciting a surge of warmth throughout his body. Fenris's lyrium veins purr steadily as he wonders (like a foolish git) what her hair would feel like if he could run his fingers through it. Would Hawke blush? Her cheeks turning a hot shade of crimson?

Once the morning light explodes (empty wine bottles aglow from the sun's rays) the wistful dreamer becomes a warrior again. Greenish grey eyes become slits of revulsion; a scowl forms as Fenris shakes the curious sensation in his chest away. Heart rate returns to normal. He tells himself how absurd it all is. He's being bewitched. Fenris shall confront Hawke. He will put an end to her sorcery.

Yet, when he meets her at the market place, any words of anger catch in his throat. The young woman's deep blue orbs brighten, causing the tall elf to shift about awkwardly. Hawke then greets him enthusiastically and Fenris finds himself forgetting whatever it was he was going to say. All that remains is this urge to take her in his arms to some place sacred, silent and only theirs.

Later, said elf will almost faint at what such feelings mean; the ever present lone wolf will rage against the notion of loving her. Hawke is much too beauteous in Fenris' eyes to love. She is like a dream, constantly out of reach, teasing and delighting his senses. However, all of that comes later though. Only after the end of Fenris's obliviousness and self contempt.

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" Next to Nothing," Breaking Benjamin

A string of murders are plaguing the city of Krikwall. Women are being lured out into the dark deserted streets then killed and dismembered. It had to be a mage behind these horrible acts. Figures. Just when Hawke felt as if she were proving to Fenris that magic was a gift from The Maker Himself these horrendous crimes begin. All progress with the elf ruined, thanks to one deranged blood mage. It frustrated the woman to no end. It also made the tentative partnership between the two that much more tenuous.

It felt as if they were always at each other's throats. Fenris kept pushing Hawke to weed out more leads, while the tired mage tried to reassure him that she was doing all that she could. Their band of merry men were limited; resources were low and there were other tasks to be done. Such a response made the elf glower at Agnes.

The way his features twitched in agitation at her (almost in disgust) caused Hawke's spirit to falter. For some reason Fenris's disappointment affected the girl more than anything or anyone else. It was almost as if he had some sort of peculiar influence over her; that Fenris had discovered some ancient spell to cause Hawke to transform into a weak kneed child at the thought of displeasing him. However, Fenris could have no such magic at his disposal. The hardened assassin despised all spell craft far too much to ever use it. He even detested being stitched up by sorcery.

Whenever Hawke healed the elf in battle, allowing the calming tingling sensation of curative magic to wash over his body, the slender fighter snarled. He told her time and time again how he'd rather rely on medical care from an apocrathy than anything she had to offer. The lady in question simply replied that she preferred her friends alive than dead, which usually shut Fenris up. Usually.

Since their investigation into the Krikwall Ripper no amount of soothing or even authoritative speeches could silence him. Sometimes all out screaming matches would ensue, causing the rest of their compatriots to nervously shuffle about. It was enough to drive an honest woman to drink!

What could Hawke ever do to make such a man trust her? In moments of contemplative quiet the lass racked her brain trying to figure her companion out. She wanted nothing more than to be his confidant and friend, but all she seemed to be was his rival.

Two steps forward in trust would be made only for Hawke to stumble ten steps backward. She couldn't win with that infuriating man. No matter how hard the young woman tried to be Fenris's shoulder to lean on, he'd almost always push her away in revulsion.

If only some sort of truce could be resurrected then, perhaps, a mutual understanding could blossom? Wouldn't that be nice? It would be better than nothing. For now, the bewildered mage felt like raising her white flag in defeat.

Sighing at the thought of Fenris, Hawke supposed that all she could do was to continue to carry on as she had been. She'd keep baring her heart open to the sullen elf simply to show him that a sorceress could be just as fragile as any other person. Maybe nothing would come of it? Or maybe time was all they needed to become allies? She'd have to wait and see, while praying to Andraste for the best. It was all she had, which was next to nothing at all.

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" That's The Way (My Love Is)," The Smashing Pumpkins

Without warning Hawke began to visit Fenris more frequently than before. She wouldn't even knock. She'd just let herself in. Fenris once asked her if it was common for mages to pick locks, and Hawke shrugged lazily in response. Her answer consisted of blaming the influences of a certain roguish dwarf and lively pirate queen for teaching her such "unruly" talents. Pursing her lips she'd then tease him, saying how it helped keep the elf on his toes.

Admittedly, the sullen swashbuckler liked this saucier side to Hawke. He liked it even more when her wit was directed at him. It made Fenris inwardly smile at how natural Hawke acted around him; that this conjuror could be as carefree as the wind whistling through leaves with him. Most people he met were rigid or guarded. Some (especially her kind) were usually demanding and taciturn. Hawke though. . .Hawke wasn't like "most" people. She was different; she was only ever open with him. It made falling in love with her easy.

Agnes was unique. A rare bird of beauty among the rabble the lonely traveler so often crossed. Fenris supposed outsiders might infer that she was an upstart. Just some wide eyed youth who stuck her neck out for Andraste and everyone; a brash child succumbing to her lust for adventure. Hell, Fenris even thought so early on in their partnership. It wasn't until he had bled by Hawke's side that Fenris realized that Hawke was one thing only- She was kind. Effortlessly, Aggie took on the plight of others as if it were her own and never out of pity either.

Fenris remembered the way Agnes had looked at him after he had confided in her about his past. It made him feel inadequate, which then almost made Fenris lash out in anger, but before he could shout at her, his vivid green eyes locked onto her blue ones. Waves were crashing inside of Hawke's eyes; large wraith like thunder hid behind those orbs. Her fury was genuine as was her compassion. It astounded Fenris how fervently she pledged her services to him (and here he thought he was the hired hand). It was then that his belief in her was cemented. Hawke was simply good through and through.

When his lady invested herself in someone it was consistently all of herself. The enchantress only ever gave her entire being to a cause. Varric once commented how Hawke was made of piss, vinegar and gumption because of how focused she remained to any task. Fenris countered with, " I believe there's more to it than that friend." This had caused the swarthy archer to quirk an eyebrow in response.

" Well, if we're getting poetic here elf, I'll do one better for ya. Next time you see her, focus on her chest, on her heart. (Not that you don't already do that,)" and here Varric nudged Fenris in the ribs conspiratorially. After laughing at the elf's expense the dwarf continued. He said, " It's Hawke's heart Fenris. It's a complex organ. Sure it does all that bodily stuff like pumping blood through the body and whatnot, but for Hawke it does something much more. How should I put this. . . . " Motioning for Fenris to lean closer to him, Varric whispered, " It gives her this resilience; an uncanny ability to love life and others without any inhibitions. Not everyone's heart has the capacity for such emotion either. Hers though, it does. Its kind of a miraculous thing, eh Fenris? " The embarrassed berserker simply nodded in agreement.

The rest of the evening was spent with Varric reading some risqué literature of his aloud (and Fenris wondering how they always ended up talking about Hawke, her heart and her chest). The story Varric prattled on about was focused on some lonely barmaid, a lusty guardsmen and a plot to prevent the assassination of a dignitary. Once the scene with the melted butter and hot pokers was read, Fenris decided to call it a night. Getting drunk alone was preferable to listening to Varric's "colorful" dialogue. Plus, it wasn't worth sitting through if he couldn't listen to Hawke snicker some sarcastic antidote into his ear or be bombarded with her lilting chuckle.

Yes, Hawke was special. She made the world seem easier to face. There wasn't a dark thought clouding his consciousness whenever she was around. With one clear shout Hawke would call him to join her as her mere proximity jolted Fenris out of any sour mood. It was extraordinary.

Hers was a boundless and freeing and wondrous type of devotion. It made Fenris believe in better tomorrows and brighter dawns; it made the assassin quiver with hope as well as a yearning to be everything to her as she was to him. He supposed that was the way love worked. It remained a sacred promise to protect, nurture and care without any expectation of a reward. You loved for the sake of loving and Hawke had taught him that. Agnes had taught him how to love.

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" Lover," Devendra Banhart

It had been a rather successful evening. Hawke and her motley crew of do-gooders had taken down one of Kirkwall's numerous scumbag crime syndicates. This particular group had called themselves the "Nug Humpers." For having united under such a ludicrous name they'd proven surprising formidable; in fact, their leader seemed prolific in the way of the sword and his second in command was one schooled in the dark arts. If not for Hawke's keen tactician mind or spell weaving their raid on the "Humpers" might have gone awry. Thankfully it didn't.

As it was, the respectable conquered over the guilty and the remaining gang members were shipped off to the gallows, courtesy of Aveline. To celebrate Varric and Isabela rallied the troops to the Hanged Man for some well deserved reveling. As Varric put it they, " needed to spend their gold in ale, wenches and atmosphere. " Fenris went along if only to keep Hawke company. She had bullied him into it after all.

Before he had a chance to skulk away, Hawke had cornered him. With her eyes as big as saucers (and as pathetic looking) she had said, " If it isn't my most favorite berserker! I'm afraid I have a matter of the utmost importance I'd like you to attend to. You simply must make an appearance at the pub this evening."

When Fenris answered her request with an eye roll Hawke elaborated with, " Well, the thing of it is, everyone is going to get royally sloshed tonight. Especially Merrill. We also know what a lightweight I am. . ." Here Fenris interrupted with, " Yes, you had two glasses of wine at my mansion last Tuesday and I practically had to carry you home." This earned the elf a very put out look from his leader.

Annoyed Hawke huffed, " Why thank you for bringing that up Fen. Any-who, 'Oh Hero Mine' because you're such the honorable sort," here she fluttered her long lashes at him, " I think it'd be in our best interests if we joined forces. You watch me while I play at watching everyone else."

Feeling suddenly hot under the collar, Fenris fidgeted. He almost didn't hear her say, " I can't be the only babysitter you know." Then the lady bribed him with a free drink and (if he was a good boy) a dance. Suddenly (and completely against his will) the moody assassin pictured Hawke snuggling up against him while a very cheesy ballad was being sung by a very tone deaf bard. It was enough to make Fenris's head spin. Another instance would illicit much of the same response from the elf later, and Fenris would blame Isobel entirely for it.

That pirate (being the brat that she was) had challenged Hawke to a drinking match in front of the entire pub. She had also threatened to show her "squishy special bits" to some rather nefarious looking men if Hawke didn't comply. Fenris had advised Hawke to ignore Isabela. The lady in question was notorious for her wild reputation anyway. In all honesty, the woman had probably already displayed her "bits" and more to said gruff looking gentlemen. For Agnes to fuss over something so trivial seemed like a waste of energy, so why bother? This had earned Fenris a swift kick in the shins from Hawke.

To Fenris' chagrin, the mage had chugged some rather dubious steaming liquid from a rather hefty mug, in order to keep Isobel happy. Needless to say, whatever was in that concoction had destroyed Hawke. It transformed her into a giggling idiot. A very loud giggling idiot. It had also made the girl as "free" as the swashbuckler in some respects too.

Clothes were being stripped off because they were, " Too hot and confining." As a result of that, Fenris had to keep his temper in check. It had come to the elf's attention that one too many of the patrons were ogling Hawke like some prime cut of meat. It was all so disgusting. Where was their decency? So what if Hawke was beautiful? So what if her skin was like fine porcelain? Or that her form was all long legs and angles? That didn't give them the right to stare. . .or Fenris that right either. . . .

When the brooding man realized that he had been admiring a woman (and Hawke no less), it sent him into a tailspin. Fenris's lyrium tattoos began to glow a soft ambient silver as hot sweat pooled in clumps at the base of his neck. Yes, he had noticed her before but never when she was so totally exposed. Never had he seen so much of her; she was dancing in her undershirt and trousers for Maker's sake!

What had it triggered within him? It was an urge, but to do what? Then the answer came: He wanted her. All of her. Such a revelation left Fenris feeling slightly lightheaded and bewildered. To save himself any further embarrassment (and to save Hawke from any future mortification) the usually silent solitary figure grabbed Agnes by the wrist, and promptly carted her away.

Fenris gingerly directed his bewitching leader back to his dwelling where she slept in his bed, alone. The elf chose to doze in his winged back chair instead of slumber near Hawke. It was the admirable thing do to. As much as he loathed to admit it, he wasn't able to trust himself so close to her sleeping form. It also didn't help that the words "lover" and "yours" and the phrase " be your man" kept pounding within his ears like some sort of bizarre chantry mantra. It was all very vexing. In the morning he would have to kill Isabela. Indeed. She must die for this. He had no other option.

In the meantime, Fenris would simply try to keep his hands to himself and flit in and out of a restless sleep. It was all he could do until morning came; it was all he could do to ignore the heat in his stomach whenever his eyes spied her angelic figure. Sweet Andraste, she was lovely! And whomever was to be her lover was going to be one hell of a lucky man. It just . . . it wasn't meant to be him. Such knowledge hurt Fenris more than he had expected it to. Deep down, he wanted to be hers and she his. Lovers. He wanted to be lovers, but that was nigh impossible. Not with his broken past; not with his scarred body and heart.

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"Bleed American," Jimmy Eat World

Kirkwall was a city built upon the principal of pain. The huddled masses that had originally entered its gates were mostly slaves. These lost souls were the spoils of the Imperium; they were cattle used as currency and cheap labor. To the iron fisted mages of the "old ways," these captured souls were merely fodder, used at the pleasure of the magisters. Hawke's newfound home was the antithesis of all she despised.

Because of the sins of the past, all mages were now considered dangerous. Hawke was damn tired of magic users always being viewed as such. Not all of them were bad though. She certainly didn't think of herself as a loony bird. Sure, the lass had her fair share of "daft" moments (especially when tipsy) but she'd never use her talents to inflict pain upon another individual. Only when in dire straights would the mage ever consider using her more destructive magical attributes. Years before, Hawke and Bethany had even made a pact on the subject.

Their father's lectures on magic as a divine gift from the Maker Himself had a profound effect on his daughters. It left both girls proud to be different, but also conscious of the great energy that flowed within them. They knew that if they were not disciplined in their craft then they could become reckless spell weavers inflicting harm onto others. Such thoughts frightened Hawke and Bethany; something had to be done about it.

One crisp fall afternoon the two sisters met to confer about their gifts. Each faced the other solemnly then pinky swore to only ever be white witches. If one of them felt that the other was slipping then it was that sister's duty to put an end to any mischief created by the other sibling. It was all very properly done. They ended their meeting by bowing their heads in silent contemplation for a whole ten minutes. It was a memory Agnes treasured. It felt even more significant now, for beloved Bethany was gone.

To honor Beth's memory (as well as their father's memory) the remaining Hawke girl continued to live by the family code of ethics. As dad used to say, " Sorcery was a blessing, never to be made into something vulgar or violent." That mages, " should ideally be remembered as benevolent sages who respect the gravity of their gifts" and not as " depraved monsters wearing cowls and shooting curses from their staffs."

Apparently, the mage (for it was usually a mage) that had come upon Keran (a missing templar Hawke was trying to find) didn't share the same beliefs about conjuration as her family did. Shame that. Such actions only helped perpetuate the notion that all spell weavers were blood thirsty fruitcakes. Case in point: Fenris.

This latest quest sent the elf into yet another tirade about the Tevinter Imperium and his morally devious owner Danarius. Such angry sentiment only spurred fellow apostate Anders to say something acerbic about Fenris's past, which caused the two to argue. It gave Hawke one whopper of a headache. What their leader always found damned annoying was that both men could never see how similar they were. Each were outsiders to society because of one very basic reason-what they were.

Anders had been ostracized for being magically inclined whereas Fenris had been brutalized for being magically lame. One would think that such life experiences would help these two form some sort of respect for the other, right? Wrong. Anders and Fenris continued to remain blinded to the human frailty in the other. It was shameful really.

Suddenly, Anders' sardonic drawl roused Agnes out of herself. Once more the mage reminded Fenris what Macha (the distraught sister of missing Keran) had told them. The inconsolable girl believed that Knight-Commander Meredith was somehow involved in her brother's departure. Sure, Meredith was somewhat of an unforgiving leader or as Varric put it, "a brutal tactician that seemed to always be on the rag," but capable of murder? Certainly not. The Commander, however abrasive, was only ever about keeping the peace. Fenris seemed to agree with Hawke on the matter because he burst out in a sea of laughter at the mere mention of Meredith's guilt. It stopped Anders cold. The elf's response prompted the two men to bicker for an entire four hours.

In the end, Lady Hawke believed that Kirkwall was the source of such narrow mindedness; that the ashes of the past had infested the ground with only hatred and ignorance where flowers should have bloomed. Hers was a city of malevolence and hypocrisy. It made Hawke sick to realize it, but her two friends were the breathing examples of all that was wrong with their home.

Both men hated the other for their differences; both wanted their viewpoints to remain unchallenged, even at the cost of their own sanity. Agnes silently prayed to Andraste that, somehow, the lost templar would be found and her hope in humanity wouldn't be completely demoralized. Her prayers felt fruitless though. Both Fenris and Anders would continue to despise the other, and Hawke would remain forever in the middle. It was enough to make the woman want to disappear. Her love never seemed enough for these two.

Apostate Anders she adored like a brother (the brother she never had in Carver). He was her dearest friend and confident. Her bond with him felt right; even without blood ties they felt kindred to each other. Anders was as much family to Agnes as he was her closet friend.

As for Fenris, he was an enigma wrapped in a mystery. It seemed as if his disgust about her kind radiated towards Hawke. It definitely cut the girl to the quick. Truly, whatever amorous affections lurked within the chambers of the heart would hardly be enough to still the elf's contempt. Hawke's silver haired champion detested mages and such contempt made the sorceress feel ugly and unworthy of him.

If only Hawke could show them how beautiful they were to her? If only bitterness could be overrun by devotion? But that wasn't the way of the world was it? Certainly not in Kirkwall, " City of Chains." The way of the world seemed to be a ruthless way. A selfishness had overtaken the masses where love was cheap, but hatred was free.

Such knowledge couldn't be born. Agnes couldn't bare it. Hers was a heart overflowing with idealism while her spirit was caged among the denizens of Kirkwall. She resided in a world of blood, animosity and (of course) the shackles of ignorance. Kirkwall was in everyone and everything (even Andraste couldn't change that) no matter how hard you prayed, or how hard you wept. They would forever bleed here. They would forever be slaves.

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" Swallowed," by Bush

They were out at The Wounded Coast, accompanying Merrill on an errand. The naïve child had heard that the coast had some special flower she needed for some recipe or ritual she was eager to practice. It was humiliating how quickly Hawke decided to humor the girl. It was almost as if Aggie felt it her duty to act as Merrill's older sister or some nonsense like that. Stupid really. Damn stupid. Now, here he was, wasting precious time along the coast in pursuit of some wild goose chase.

Frustrated, the elf brushed hair out of his eyes and sighed. Varric didn't seem bothered in the least about their wasted morning. The bastard was in fact humming. Humming! How in the seven hells could Varric be composed, knowing this venture was nothing more than a ludicrous joke? It wasn't as if the elf girl had procured her information from a reliable source. Oh no! Little Merrill had gathered this "valuable" information from a drunken dock worker who smelled of piss and dubious life choices. The man couldn't even stand without swaying dangerously from left to right then back to the left again! This entire trip was absolutely unequivocally pointless.

But here I am, thought Fenris. Hawke has to only ask for my company, and I follow her like some slobbering lap dog. Swallowing back the urge to scream, the lean swordsman continued pursuing his leader's shadow. Hawke was ahead of he and Varric, laughing along with Merrill about Maker knew what. Laughing. Of all the insulting things that woman could do, she cuts him with careless laughter. It felt as if Hawke had no regard for Fenris's schedule; as if his honor wasn't anything to be valued. Humiliated, Fenris began clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Careful there Silverback, your angst is starting to show." Fenris huffed to himself. "This isn't angst dwarf. I have simply grown weary of our outing and wish to be back in the comfort of my home." It was Varric's turn to laugh at Fenris's expense. "Home?" His fellow muscle snorted. "Fenris be honest here: You live in a hole. And you know as well as I do, all you would be doing while alone is thinking of Hawke. Don't try to deny it." This sobered Fenris, prompting him to say, " What I choose to think about is none of you or Bianca's concern Varric." The only response Fenris got in return was a mere, " Suit yourself Wolfie." Suddenly, both men froze. They could hear raised voices, one of them being Agnes' voice. The lady in question did not sound amused.

"What is your quarrel with these mages," she shouted. "Surely, these young men and women have done nothing which warrants such violence?" A group of gruff looking men, no mercenaries, stood before Hawke looking bored at her interference. Fenris found himself tightening the grip of his sword. This encounter will not end well. Varric seemed to agree with Fenris's thoughts for the bard already had stiffened an arrow in Bianca's quiver.

Where the devil was Merrill? Out of the corner of Fenris's eye he saw the secret keeper kneeling next to a frightened mage. It looked as if the girl was wounded and Merrill was trying to tend to her scrapes. Typical. Hawke had to be these apostates saviors. Still, it was admirable how the young lady couldn't ever run from a fight. If ever there was to a wrong to be righted, well, Hawke would find it and right that wrong. It was just her way.

" Listen, you seem like you're an astute business man. Let me pay the bounty you would have gotten for these elves. No one would be the wiser." The leader of this unsavory troupe only spit in response. Fenris wondered what in the blazes Hawke was thinking? Couldn't she see that these men wouldn't back down? Foolish. Foolish girl.

"These here are blood mages and I intend to have every one of their fucking heads on a platter by the end of this. Now, why not run along, eh girly? You're doing nothing but pissin' me off." Again the man spat, but this time on Hawke's face. Grunting, Fenris felt the lyrium bubble over in fury beneath his skin.

" Let the elves go. I'll deal with them," and here Agnes wiped the saliva off her face, without so much as a grimace. Her soiled kerchief hit the mercenary leader right between the eyes after she was done using it. Varric muttered, " Good aim Hawke. Damn cheek, but I like your style." Before Fenris could react, Hawke spoke again. "Last chance gentlemen, I offer you gold. I offer you more spoils than your employers do. Make the wise choice, and surrender this bounty to me. Leave with rich pockets; leave with your lives." Their reply? Hawke was met with, "You dare threaten me bitch" and a dagger slicing open her left arm. The fight was on.

Surprisingly, the fleeing apostates rallied behind Hawke. As disgusting as their methods were, it gave the quartet an edge against their brutal foes. Blood and magic and sweat and frantic combat clattered together as sand danced around Fenris's feet. He searched for Hawke in the midst of the fray, but she was nowhere to be seen. The elf's gut told him Agnes must have boarded the mercenary ship. She was no doubt fighting the leader of these brawlers alone. Aggie, you twit. His size alone could overpower you!

Deftly dodging attacks, the fearful berserker found himself charging aboard a crusty ill kept vessel. "You cuntless wench! You've burned me for the last time!" They're in the captain's quarters, thought Fenris. Hold on Hawke. Hold on. Then a scream shook the boat.

It was an agonized cry, one that Fenris would never forget. Agnes had been wounded. Thrashing through the wooden doors, Fenris spied Hawke cornered. Her left eye was smarting an ugly bruise, almost hidden beneath her bangs. Weaving her staff she was whispering enchantments, as a crimson stain grew below her breast. Her attacker looked worse if possible. The man was badly burned. Parts of him charred beyond recognition. Fenris supposed it was pure adrenalin which kept the villain going (that or pure hatred).

A bright light surrounded Hawke. She was trying to resurrect an Arcane shield, but looked too weak to do so. It pitifully flickered in and out of sight. Fenris knew he had to act, and quickly too.

Just as the tip of a vicious blade was about to breech Hawke's defenses, Fenris saw his opening. In a flurry of movement, the enraged mercenary became nothing but a corpse. Sticky blood poured into the wood of the ship.

"Come Hawke, let us return to shore." The tired woman silently nodded, allowing Fenris to support her weight. When they came upon Merrill and Varric, both discovered that the blood mages had overpowered their pursuers, thusly winning their freedom. Agnes looked pleased. Fenris watched, entranced, as Hawke went to shake hands with her fellow victors. His eyes never once leaving her silhouette.

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"Shake It Out," Manchester Orchestra

It had been a murky day. Rain drops pelted Fenris's apartment window. Hawke stared out listlessly. She was agitated today. Nightmares had that effect on her. Vivid nightmares especially. Visions swathed in smoke, echoing with the screams of the fallen. . . .

Ever since fleeing Lothering, Agnes developed a penchant for experiencing grizzly night terrors. Such dreams couldn't be helped really. The girl carried with her a guilt too hefty to simply cast off in relief; Hawke shouldered her regret like a martyr shouldering a cross.

Bethany. Her beloved sister perished because of her. Sacrificed herself when Hawke had hesitated, temporarily immobilized by that hideous darkspawn troll.

I couldn't move my feet. I couldn't do anything. I just stood there like an idiot. A cowardly idiot. Hawke shook herself out of her trance. Angry tears were threatening to fall and she couldn't bare the humiliation. Composure and tact were needed at the moment, not self pity. Her visit with Fen was entirely business oriented. Aveline was due to arrive soon. It was all centered around the Viscount. He had entrusted Hawke with yet another important matter.

One of the Arishok had sent a delegate to confer with the Viscount, but said delegate had never showed up. He had disappeared into the ether. This did not bode well for the citizens of Kirkwall. Things with the Qun were already delicate and this incident could prove to exacerbate things (even start an all out war).

Hawke swallowed in anxiousness; her stomach blanketed in nausea. So much responsibility was placed upon her. It curdled her senses. What if she couldn't avert this current crisis? What if all her past successes were nothing more than dumb luck? Luck, which could easily desert her at any given moment. Hawke clenched her fists, her brow furrowing. I'm hardly fit to be in any kind of leadership role, she thought. Let alone act as some Viscount's personal advisor. I'm not anybody's wunderkind strategist. I'm a simple mage. A mage who got their only sister slaughtered out of sheer carelessness. I am an unfit apostate; a child playing at war.

Such deprecating thoughts kept circling like an ouroboros inside the confines of Hawke's consciousness. The more the woman gazed out her window, the more her mind twisted into ugly knots; the more hungrily self-doubt consumed herself. Sighing, Aggie turned away from her perch. The chaotic storm did little to soothe her spirit. It only seemed to add to her melancholy.

" You've barely spoken a word to me Hawke," Fenris stated matter of factly. " I can't help but assume you've found my company to be unsatisfactory and dull. Perhaps I should fetch Varric? He's always good for a laugh." At this sudden remark, the mage in question sputtered for a response. Her vocal chords unable to produce a sound. Fenris chuckled at Hawke's reaction. " I was simply teasing Hawke, though your lack of conversation isn't like you."

Frowning, the lithe elf moved closer to Agnes, so close that her skin tingled with each puff of his breath. " I look at you and I think, 'There is my bird of prey with her wings so cruelly clipped.' What has grounded you on this day? What troubles you so that you become introspective and brooding? A mirror image of myself?" For a fraction of a second, Hawke swore Fenris's right hand moved upward, as if to touch her hair, but just as quickly, his armored fist lay slack at his side again. Hawke closed her eyes, her mouth suddenly dry. Oh, how she wanted him to touch her. So badly. So badly it caused her bones to ache.

"Hawke," his voice tenderly breathed. Without knowing where such courage came from, Agnes fell into Fenris's arms. He didn't make a move to hold her; his body stiffened from the contact, yet Hawke didn't care. Ignoring propriety, the tired lady unleashed all of her woe about Lothering, Bethany and her thoughts of inadequacy onto Fenris. . .and he listened.

Not once did he interrupt her, or try console her with useless empty words. Instead, Fen remained as still as Orzamarrzian stone while bitter tears dampened his tunic. With her last sob slowly losing its frenzied edge, Hawke pulled away from him. Awkwardly she gazed at her feet, muttering a quiet "thank you." Feeling the room become tense, Aggie was about to excuse herself for a bit of fresh air when, abruptly, she was stopped by a cool metal finger stroking her cheek.

" You're welcome Hawke," Fenris softly replied. He dried her face with an old blanket, never dropping eye contact with her. Hawke felt lighter. Fenris's kindness healed her brokenness; she was certain she could once again soar. Smiling, Hawke whispered, " I think I'm done carrying funeral dirges inside my chest. I think. . . I think Beth would have wanted me to live for happier tunes." Fenris nodded at her admission, while his eyes of forested mystery bore into Agnes's blue ones. Again, they were close. Inches apart. Their noses touching. Before Hawke steadied herself for a kiss, Aveline arrived. Her presence jolting Fenris away from her like a whirlwind.

Apparently, the Guard Captain had a lead about the missing delegate. It was time, she said, to speak with a politician by the name of Bran. He knew something. " We should move now. Day is almost done, and Bran might not be available to us tomorrow. Politicians being the way they are, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to weasel his way out of questioning by the morrow," Aveline stated. " Then go we must," came Fenris's fast answer. Hawke lamely smiled at her companions then motioned for the door. As they retreated from Fenris's estate, Hawke glared holes into the swordsman's backside. Today was a fluke and nothing more, moped Hawke. A fluke and nothing more. And with that, Hawke stepped out into the rain.

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" Bang Pop," Free Energy

It was another boozy evening at the Hanged Man. Fenris surveyed the crowed in bored fascination. Aveline could be seen carousing with some of her off duty guardsmen and their families. In the far eastern corner sat Isabela, along with Anders. It appeared their game of Wicked Grace was getting heated. Anders was cursing, while Isabela giggled mercilessly over Anders' lack of gambling skills.

About ten paces away from the pirate and abomination, stood Merrill with a very flustered Varric. The girlish Merrill was blasted from drink, twirling around Varric as if he were a maypole. She kept shouting, "Dance with me Varric! Dance with me!" Varric went from trying to console her to, now, covering his face in shame. As for their fearless leader, Agnes Marian Hawke was alone at her own table perusing a letter.

Her brother, Carver, had finally condescended to write his sister. Fenris eyed the subdued Hawke from his position at the bar, lyrium taut across his skin. That sulking git Carver always had a way of unraveling Hawke with his harsh words and brash demeanor. Always. Grimacing, Fenris downed his ale in one go with images of Carver's heart being held in his angered hands. So help that fool if he once more denies Hawke her affections, glowered Fenris. Couldn't that arse realize what he had? Aggie loved him. Loved him. Truly, the headstrong warden had it all. For Maker's sake, wasn't Hawke not good enough for him?

To Fenris, Hawke was the truest sister and friend that any brother could hope for. All the lady ever did was put her family's safety, happiness and security first. What in the seven hells would it take for her brother to appreciate that? Andraste almighty, she had even saved his life! His life!

Mercifully, she had given Carver to the Grey Wardens after he had contracted the darkspawn taint. Most (blood or otherwise) would have simply left him to die or gutted him where he fell, but not Hawke. Fenris would have. He would have in a heartbeat. For once, Anders had been there for Hawke in a way that Fenris could not be. The former warden had suggested the joining as a possible cure for Carver. If the former Tevinter slave had been there, he simply would have slaughtered the young man. Phased into his body without an ounce of regret, then ripped him to shreds. Thank the Maker Fenris hadn't ventured alongside Hawke for that particular quest. The vagabond knew that if he had been one of Agnes's companions, she never would have forgiven him for forever silencing her brother. Not ever.

Swirling his tumbler of whiskey, Fenris thought back to when he had first seen Hawke since the horror of the Deep Roads. It was at Hawke's manor. The mage's mother had coordinated a coming home party for her, Anders and Varric. Fenris smiled, remembering how he had anxiously stood apart from the revelers, waiting for any sign of Agnes. When she finally appeared, oh how small she looked. So damnable small. . . .

Her blue orbs were a dull lifeless color; her skin sallow. Dark circles marred the girl's usually flawless complexion. Her hair had been long at the time, and instead of looking well cared for and satiny, it was sticking around her face as if she hadn't washed it in days. Everything about her whispered of a broken woman. It was as if the light had been extinguished from her soul. It had killed Fenris to witness Hawke so wretched.

The lady hadn't stayed long at her party. Sure, she greeted every person there with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, but as abruptly as Hawke had come she left. Aveline almost went after the bereaved apostate, but Anders had stopped her. His eyes shined a bright blue thanks to that accursed spirit Vengeance. In that unearthly voice of the two Anders had said, " Leave her be. Her brother is no longer hers to call family. He belongs to the Order of the Gray now. He is a Warden. She will be but a memory to him from this day forth. Let her grieve." And Aveline, usually so headstrong, deflated under the finality of Anders' warning, and sank defeated into an armchair.

" Poor kid," Varric whispered. "She has already lost so much, and now her brother. Though. . .at least he didn't die down there in that hellish darkness." Anders nodded. The rest of the group shared concerned glances, with Merrill going as far as out right crying. Isabela held the Dalish lass in a fierce hug, trying in vain to comfort her. " I'll never forget the sound of her sobs. What we witnessed in the dark. . .it'll haunt me forever and twice fold for Hawke," the dwarf sighed. "When Carver had fallen in battle, after we faced those damn ungodly things, Hawke became unhinged. She took on two ogres by herself in a fit of rage. Almost lost her due to recklessness and overexertion."

" I should have been there," Fenris bellowed. The room momentarily stopped. I think I thoroughly scared Kirkwall society that day, mused the beserker. Here, Fenris recalled Leandra (Hawke's ever prudent mother) offering the small group of friends the library for privacy. Once removed from the prying eyes of others, Varric continued his tale of The Deep Roads. The part which stood out to Fenris the most was Varric's description of Hawke after she discovered Carver to be tainted.

The typically animated man became subdued here. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Varric said, " Our little birdie, Hawke, began to shake uncontrollably. Her magic. . .she no longer had control over it . . . or her emotions either. Her. . .her whole fracking body glowed with power. She became this electric banshee. Wailing and lamenting as her fingers cackled with energy." Anders gloomily concurred his cohorts story." We almost thought we'd have to battle Hawke. Kill her for our own survival. . . ." "Luckily, she calmed down on her own volition," Varric added. "Luckily."

" She simply fell to her knees, all magic gone, and cradled Carver. Kept rocking back and forth for. . .Maker knows how long. She kept saying 'Not again. No, no, no, no. Maker no. Not my brother. Not my brother. All my fault. All my fault again.' She blames herself for all this as much as she blames herself for Bethany's death. In fact, the most she's spoken since we've returned has been tonight," finished Varric.

" A farthing for your thoughts," came a voice to Fenris's right. It was Hawke. Her cheeks all rosy, hair once again cut to her shoulders and eyes as bright as ever. "No, nothing important Hawke," Fenris said. "Care to join me?" The woman nodded, grinning wide. She ordered a hard cider and happily shared her news about Carver. Her brother was thriving as a warden, even got on well with his superior officer the legendary Alistair, one of the heroes of the last blight. " I remember seeing Alistair in Lothering, along with The Hero of Ferelden and thinking him to be cute, but in a puppy dog sort of way. As for her. . . she was so petite. Beautiful. Her hair cut short, close to her face. Eyes blue, almost like mine but different. As if hers were a reflection of an early morning sky." Fenris wolfishly smiled, saying, " I suppose beauty must run in your family then?" Here Hawke snorted, shaking her head vigorously. "I'm hardly as refined. I remember wanting to approach them. Especially her. What is her name? Carver mentioned it. . .Oh yes! Persephone. Carver said she's apparently tickled to have existing family, and wishes to write me. It would seem I have gained a cousin." Fenris answered her by smiling at the news.

The rest of the conversation was mostly one-sided from that moment onward. Hawke continued to expound about her joy over Carver thriving as a Warden. She also animatedly recounted how he had forgiven her; that he had realized his shortcomings were his own, not anything Hawke had bequeathed him. As Agnes merrily laughed, Fenris's heart popped. It's beat steadily escalating. She had that effect on him. One happy glance from her then bang! He melted. Thank Andraste she's right again, Fen mused. Thank the stars above. And as Hawke continued to talk, Fenris drank her in. Happy just to be in her orbit.

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" Cough Syrup," Young the Giant

It was past the witching hour in Kirkwall. Agnes felt exhausted; her feet aching and blistered. No matter how far she ventured, Hawke's silver haired wolf was nowhere to be found. Fenris had fled. He wasn't in his manor, the Hanged Man, Free Marshes, or any of the other outlying areas. The elf had simply vanished. He had left Kirkwall as swiftly as the newly dead vacated their bodies. He was a nowhere man. Untraceable.

The others had given up hours ago. Hawke had received half hearted smiles and condolences from each of them. Bless Isabela though. The rogue had gone so far as to offer her boat to Hawke if the mage didn't wish to spend the evening alone. Izzy always did have a knack for reading Aggie like an open tome. The pirate queen easily saw through Agnes' tough façade, realizing quickly that her Aggie was delirious with worry. And, oh how she was! Sod it, but the man she loved had abandoned her. Left without so much as a proper goodbye, most likely never to be heard from again. It smarted worse than any gash from a sword ever could. Hawke wondered if broken hearts caused internal bleeding? And if so, could she heal the pain away?

Stomach churning, the lady wearily sought a momentary respite beneath the twisted branches of a nearby tree. Cold, confused and heartbroken Hawke relived her final moments with Fenris. In her minds eye, she was once more in the holding cages of the Free Marshes. Hadriana's limp corpse lay spread eagled on the floor; her fresh blood splattered across Hawk's robes. Fenris was directly in front of her, ranting about how mages spoiled all that they touched. His eyes thick with rage. His screams reverberating off of the crimson stone in deafening clarity. Hawke's ears stinging from Fenris's unfiltered loathing.

"He blamed me," Hawke whispered to herself. Unfairly, all of Fenris's animosity towards the Tevinter Imperium had been directed towards her. It didn't matter how the lady had frequently proven her loyalty. Oh, no. She was a spell weaver, an ungodly enchantress unfit for the world of man. A disease. Weeping, Hawke wiped off a fresh river of tears. As the night waned on, she shivered. Fenris hated her. Despised her. Maker help Aggie, but she couldn't will herself to forget these fresh memories. Nothing could be discerned amidst the cloak of night, but Fenris's ugly tirade against her.

She had tried to reason with him. Saints preserve her, she had tried. With a voice cracking from unrealized sobs, Hawke began to plead with her love. " Fenris, I know you're upset," she breathed. "But, please. . ." "Upset," he yelled. "You think me merely upset? Oh, how amusing this is. Typical of a mage,! Only thinking of themselves and not beyond their own twisted noses when another is in pain." Aghast, Agnes stumbled backward at his venomous outburst. " I. . I don't understand. Haven't I not been a friend to you? Haven't I not shown you every kindness in the world?" Here Fen ran a hand through his hair, his posture arched and ready for battle. " Like teaching me how to read? Ordering me around like a lapdog? Yes Hawke, you have been marvelously kind to me."

The room became unbearably thick then. Agnes could only stand before Fenris dumfounded. How was this fair? Around every turn she had defended his honor, freedom and dignity! Had risked her life without a second thought for him. How. . .how could he treat her this way? How could he loathe her so?

Varric was the first to break the silence. Gruffly the archer said, " I think it's time you shut your mouth pretty boy. This mage, which you are so quick to condemn, has done nothing but try to help you. She actually gives a flying nug shit about your past, present and future Fenris. We all understand you're upset, but Andraste's ass! Be a bastard if you want towards me or Isabela here, but do not spit upon Hawke's generosity." Fenris remained stoic and unresponsive, as if Varric's speech had never reached his ears.

" And just as a word of advice, once you find a woman like that. . . . One that actually cares about you like Hawke cares for you," and here Varric gestured toward the pale apostate, "Well, you hold onto to such a woman. They are a rare find; rare in a world as grasping as this one is for a man's soul. You're losing her you fucking twit. You. Are. Losing. Her. And in the worst goddamn way possible." Fenris suddenly howled, slamming his left fist into a nearby wall. Panting, he whispered softly, " I can no more stay here. Not in this loathsome place. I take me leave of you."

He passed Hawke without a second glance. Isabela began to shake. Hawke couldn't stop her. In truth, the lass couldn't even move. She felt paralyzed to the ground where she stood. In one fluid motion, Izzy had grabbed Fenris by the throat. She held a dagger close to his delicate jugular. " How dare you try to flee! You yellow cock-sore, apologize. Apologize damn you," she hissed. Fen simply stared straight ahead. "Goddamn you Fenris! Look at her. Look at our girl. She's crying! You fucking cunt. How. . .how can you just let her carry on like this?" And, sure enough, Hawke was shaking and bawling. The dam within her had finally burst. There was no holding back now, her heart had died.

Lyrium aglow, Fenris phased out of Isabela's grasp. Solemnly, he walked out of the holding cages. Fast forward thirteen hours later and Hawke remains a solitary figure in the darkness. The search for her first love coming to a close. Funny, she had half expected to bump into him at any moment. Then, awkwardly, Fenris would explain himself to her in that clipped passionate speech of his. Reconciliations would be made. They'd drink wine until dawn, each comparing battle scars with wry humor and lilting laughter. Their friendship would be mended (and she could continue to admire him again).

Such a happiness is one I will not be granted. A fortune that I cannot win, Hawke thought. With the morning songs of birds beginning to surround her, Aggie directed her feet towards home. It was useless to frenziedly keep searching for Fen anymore. He was gone, as gone as gone could be. Sighing, Hawke wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. She had been defeated. Her affection proved insufficient. She wasn't someone Fenris had ever admired or cared for. There was no love in him, for if there had been then he would have appeared. He would have let me find him. Instead, there was only the moon to guide Hawke's wearied shadow back to High Town. No footsteps joined her own. No wolfish howls were heard. No. There was only that moon, the moon and nothing and no one to greet her. Hawke was deserted, a woman meant to travel alone.

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" Hallelujah," Jeff Buckley

The velocity of his hatred had bested him yet again. Seeing that whimpering bitch Hadriana had stirred within Fenris a tsunami of contempt. His vision turned cloudy with varying shades of red; his brain had short circuited, leaving only the bitter pill of fury in its wake. Memories resurfaced thanks to that Tevinter slag.

Suddenly, Fenris was back in Hadriana's personal quarters. The repulsive woman was unclothed, ordering Fen about and forcing him to bath her. Made to please her womanhood. Obligated to flick her swollen bud with fingers, tongue and erection. If Fenris ever refused (which was daily) Danarius's pet pupil would brutalize the elf with blood magic. Hadriana, ever the romantic, got off on torture.

Whenever the wearied Fenris cried out in pain, the mage would moan as if in the throes of passion. Often she'd strip naked, writhing in his spilt blood. Her hands pleasuring herself while her mouth began to bruise his flesh with jagged bite marks. Love bites she called them. Fenris could still trace the outline of these gouges. Her affectionate "nibbles" ran so deep they had left ribbons of ugly scars.

Absently, Fenris touched his throat while lost in his past torments. He could almost feel the familiar cold of metal against his Adam's apple. Still, Danarius' old slave collar remained absent from Fen's exposed neck. That hellish device had been the catalyst for the majority of the elf's suffering. When activated, the collar would glow as white as Fenris's lyrium veins. It transformed his muscles into stone. All agility would be lost. You became nothing more than a golem; a glorified instrument for the magister's bidding.

With Fenris subdued, no more could the wolf rip his adversaries apart. Oh no. Now the wild beast was completely helpless, a domesticated lap dog. It was then that Hadriana pounced. She could finally fulfill all of her morbid fantasies without risk of Fenris tearing her limb from limb. And Maker help him, she did. Her appetite for destroying him was insatiable. . . .

When he finally cleaved her heart from her chest, Fenris felt no joy. Justice remained absent from his stead. An emptiness enveloped him, profound in its weight. Hadriana couldn't leave this world without one final act of cruelty: Fenris had a sister. Such revelations did little but frustrate the man more. What was he to do with such knowledge? What could he do? The answer was nothing. His hands were tied anew. You could flee the Imperium, but you could never flee being a powerless slave. Then there she was.

Another humiliation witnessed by the very woman he loved. For the first time in their friendship, Hawke's very presence curdled Fenris's blood. He suddenly resented how radiant she looked.

Her face had flushed a dusky pink, while her eyes shined bright. Those eyes. Orbs full of dark azure waves, which gently carried him farther and farther from shore. Farther from any kind of reality. Concern too outlined her eyes. It wouldn't be long before she'd reach out to him at any moment. She'd wish to comfort; to console his troubled mind. What a cruel joke all this was! To be enthralled by a lady that was all he most despised in this world. What a cruel merciless joke! Fenris loved a sorceress.

Repulsed by his affections, Fenris pursued the thoughtless task of generalizing her. Placed Agnes inside a box of stereotypes, branding her the villain due to her gifts. Numbly, he ignored any pangs of sorrow he felt as he threw each new impudent insult her way. It didn't take long before Varric and Isabel condemned his behavior. Fenris was out of line, an unforgivable wretch and he knew it. It wasn't until he had reached the docks, ready to flee onto the nearest barge that the enormity of his actions hit him: He had betrayed the one person in all of Thedas he cherished.

Like a careless rake, he had pitched Hawke aside due to his own careless anger. Willfully, lost her favor because of his pride. It wasn't Hadriana's heart he head crushed. Maker forgive him, it had been Hawke's. His Aggie. Time slipped by in a haze of self loathing. Indecision coupled with fear left Fenris rooted to the outside of Kirkwall's gates, the ships at port beckoning him to depart to shores yet unknown. " You shippin' out or not elf," a brash voice echoed. Fenris stared stupidly at the sailor before him. "No," he answered.

Possessed with the need to repent, Fen began to run full tilt to the Hawke estate. He had to see her. Had to make her understand his regret. His veins pulsed in anxious streams. What if she wouldn't see him? Then blast it all, he'd try again tomorrow. And the next day? Yes. He'd try every day until she'd accept his explanation. In a harried blur, Fenris reached Agnes' home. He pounded urgently upon her door in rampant succession, until an irked Bodahn greeted him. "Mistress Hawke is out Sir Fenris. No amount of knocking shall alert her to your presence. I can, however, leave her a message if you'd like." Fenris declined the dwarf's offer, instead insisting he'd wait for her return in the foray.

Hours ticked by in slow agonized succession. The light through the windows growing steadily fainter as evening's approach grew closer. Still, no sign of Hawke. Where the blazes was she? Was she safe? Had his words made her do something rash? Feeling sick, Fen buried his face in his hands. How he despised himself; how he wished he'd died a slave back in Tevinter. Hawke never would have known him then. Never would have been bothered with trash like him. Never would have had to concern herself with his problems and cares. "Fenris?" He froze. Agnes had reappeared.

" Emm'asha! I. . .I was beginning to think I wouldn't see you this night," Fenris sputtered. Hawke slowly approached him. Her voice was low and ragged. "I was out looking for you. We all were. We. . .I was worried about you. Didn't know if you were safe. After everything that happened. . . ." Hawke choked back a sob. " I was scared you'd left. " Fenris stilled himself. After the hell he'd put her through, here she was all forgiveness and warmth. " Hawke," he said. " I've been thinking about what happened at the holding caves. I took. . .I took my anger, all of it, out on you." Cautiously Fenris moved toward the woman before him, never losing eye contact. He wanted her to know how sorry he was. How damn sorry.

" It. . .it was undeservedly so," he whispered. " I was not myself. I became that which I hate most, a tyrant. I was blind with fury. Consumed by it. She was dead and I. . .I placed all of my ire out on you. Abelas falon Hawke." Nervously, Fenris waited for Hawke to respond to his admission. He studied her, following the knotted symbols of her Dalish tattoo around her right cheek bone. Itching to trace said symbols with his actual fingers. "Idiot," the lady shuddered.

" I didn't know where you went! You left so abruptly. . .so suddenly. I was certain you had abandoned Kirkwall; abandoned me." Her lower lip started to quiver. Fenris ached at the sight. He reached out for her, grasping her small hands in his. Squeezing gently before he turned away, pacing the length of the room. " I needed to be alone. There were too many memories to sort through; too much pain to recall. Back when I was slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me. Deny my meals. Hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond. And she knew it."

Swallowing hard, Fenris continued his descent into the past. " The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now, I couldn't let her go. Not after all I had suffered by her hands. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. She. . .she stole parts of myself I never can get back Hawke. Not ever." Holding herself, hugging her body tightly like a child Hawke shivered at his admission. "Fen, what do you mean?" She sounded so far away all of sudden. It frightened him.

Hesitantly he said, " I was her toy to use however she saw fit to use me. The Tevinter Imperium, along with it's mighty sorcery has a way of ensnaring people. Your body does things against your soul's will. Mine was no different." Feeling nauseous, the wiry warrior sat down. The flames of the fireplace cast dark shadows around his face, making him look so much older than he was. " This hatred," he began. " I thought I'd gotten away from it. But, it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again. . .to know that it was they who planted it there inside of me, it . . .it was too much to bare."

Green eyes grew downcast as Fenris sighed. "I didn't come here to burden you Agnes. I. . .I understand if you'd like me to leave." Hawke shook her head no. She slowly encircled her delicate hands around his face. She was crouching to his eye line now. Sweetly she whispered, " We're friends Fenris. I'd want to know. Do want to know. Will always want to know."

He moved away from her then, pushing himself upward woozily. " I'm not sure I know what that is. . ." He felt awkward. It was time he skulked off. She had heard enough from him. This was enough. Body inches from the door, Hawke whimpered. Fenris froze. "Stop! Please," she begged. Slowly Fen turned, finding Aggie curled up in the fetal position on the floor. Quietly, rivers fell down her face. Fenris melted. Before he realized what he was doing, he had Hawke cradled his arms. Tenderly, he rubbed soothing circles into her back. He offered soothing words in Elfish, sometimes breaking back into English with, "Hush milady. Hush. " Her tender frame relaxed. She soon fell asleep against him.

Fenris held Hawke until the cool light of dawn interrupted the small miracle of holding her. Carefully, he carried the lass upstairs to her room. On the way, he admired the way Agnes murmured incoherent phrases in her slumber. It was disarmingly precious. With soft hands, he gingerly placed her beneath satin sheets. The affection he held for her, it crept into his consciousness in hallelujah choruses. It intoxicated his senses. How could such a slumbering woman have this affection on him?

Noiselessly, Fen exited Hawke's abode, a sliver of a smile ghosting his lips. Love was engulfing the beserker's heart, overthrowing much thought of anything else but Aggie in it. He could feel the girth of the emotion as it comfortably made a home within his chest. It clawed out more space for itself, space he had once denied for the fervor of revenge. True, Fenris had loved Hawke before this morning, but now he could love her openly instead of secretly longing for her. Yesterday's events had given him the push he needed to let his lady fully in. He was ready now, ready for a world without torments. A world with only her in it.

Serannas Aggie, he thought. Ma nehn. Ma sa'lath. You shall eternally be my fairest one. And the holy ghost moved through him then. He felt alive for the first time in years. Whatever came between Fenris and Hawke from this hour onward would not deter his feelings for her. No, not ever. He wouldn't dare lose this sensation of happiness again. He loved the mage, truly loved her. The resolution came swiftly to his soul: he would adore Agnes regardless if his past made their love impossible to keep safe. He belonged to her; he willingly was her slave.

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Elvish Phrases:

Emm'asha (ehm-AH-shah): My girl.

Abelas (ah-BEY-lahs): Sorrow; an apology.

Falon (fah-LOHN): Friend.

Serannas (SEHR-ah-nahs): Expressing gratitude.

Ma (MAH): My, mine.

Nehn (NEN): Joy.

Ma sa'lath (mah sah-lath): My one love.

Abelas falon: I am sorry friend.

Serannas Hawke: Thank you Hawke.

Ma nehn: My joy.

* Elvish phrases courtesy of the Dragon Age wiki.

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If any of you enjoyed these short one-shots, then please feel free to read Lovers At A Great Divide, which is my main Fenris/Hawke story. I am editing it at the moment and plan on adding new content to it soon. Lastly, please review. Your comments make me a better writer. (Not to mention, said reviews make my day). Thank you guys. I hope to hear from you all shortly.


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